


Major Key

by Beezarre



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Intimacy, Music, RedVines Day, Softness, piano playing, semi-nakedness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beezarre/pseuds/Beezarre
Summary: A wooden bench and the baring of her soul, that was the offer Serena had made to Bernie after years of playing alone and letting the piano keys unleash the emotions that threatened to overspill from her too-oft scarred heart.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Redvines Day





	Major Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/gifts).



> Best read while listening to [Satie’s First Gnossienne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTXg844ONps) on a loop
> 
> Thanks a lot to Sevtacular/Slightlyintimidating and Daisydoctor13 for encouraging me and reading through this <3
> 
> This is a #RedVines Day gift for the lovely Fortytworedvines! Take care!

Serena ran her fingers along the polished wood slowly before opening the lid. The white keys hadn’t aged quite as well as the black ones but the sound was still just right, she made sure of that. The seat was a simple wooden bench, the type that got uncomfortable when you played a while, the type you forgot about when the music was healing your soul.

She’d been taught the strict rules of classical music as a child, before discovering, much later, that there was more to music than Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin. There could be freedom, and she’d chased it like she would chase the last of the taste of a good Shiraz. It had alleviated the weights of the demons on her shoulders many times, ripped them apart in the otherwise quiet house. 

She hadn’t played for an audience, not since those early lessons. Music was one of the few sides of her life where she allowed herself to be less than perfect. She’d start with a piece and let mistakes express her state of mind. She’d put her fingers on the keys, let the chords happen and forgive herself if a note came out too sharp. It was a world within her world, a door she not only kept closed to others but kept hidden away. It was a door to her soul, and no one had a right to so much as take a peek. 

It was a place to be fallible, a place to be vulnerable and embrace it. It was a place to weep, her fingertips shedding as many tears as were rolling down her cheeks. It was a place to be the woman few people saw, and fewer still understood. It was her sanctuary. It held her pains and her joys, at her fingertips, imperfect storms that helped clear her mind.

She could go months without playing, for lack of time or drive. She could play every day for a week and not get her fill. Music was a lover with tantrums of her own. She’d always depicted music as some sort of female entity for some reason, one she could battle with or make love to, and it had taken years for that to make sense. Years, and Bernie.

Bernie. How many times had her piano sung her praise in the deep silence of her house, how many times had she fallen in love before opening her eyes to the truth. And how many times, then, had she celebrated her, struggling to find the notes to pour her heart out in a way she feared might have otherwise driven her lover away.

But she was here, now. She was a few paces away, leaning against the wall, eyes trained on Serena like a gentle spotlight. Serena had left the door open for her, leading them here, Serena closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She knew quite a few pieces by heart, wasn’t sure whether to trust her fingers to find their way on their own with Bernie so close if she were to simply improvise. She started simple, a piece she’d played and played, a piece that was a part of her, etched on her soul. A piece that meant everything, her sorrows and her joys expressed all at once in a controlled mess.

Bernie had rested her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and Serena kept on playing. One repeat, two and Bernie opened her eyes again, full of the care Serena felt she didn’t deserve. She repeated the piece one more time, taking more time. Bernie came closer, standing behind her, gently putting her hands on her shoulders, and Serena strayed from the piece. 

It was small, little pieces of melodies at first that melted into one another, a chord here and there. It grew as she felt Bernie’s hands travel up her neck, Bernie’s fingertips against her skin, tilting her head backwards slightly. It soared to a heartbeat, hers, theirs, everything they were and could be. Bernie’s hands had travelled to her collarbones, gently stroking them, following the flow of the music. 

Serena wasn’t out of notes, too full of them, scared they might all come out at once in a cacophony Bernie wouldn’t understand. How many times had she relinquished her soul to music, her heart to Bernie. Now Bernie had both and was content to share, the invisible lover bringing them closer rather than separating them.

Without thinking about it, she’d switched to a tango rhythm, something that very much echoed their relationship, the start of it anyway as far as the separation went, and then the imperious desire of skin on skin, the endless dances that made their body sing a music Serena wasn’t sure she could replicate. Love, with Bernie, was all or nothing, and even nothing was the promise of a gentle embrace that acted like a balm on her many wounds. All meant seconds, minutes, hours in her arms, sighs moans and cries until sated, until next time.

There was a storm brewing, the keys struck with more force. Bernie’s hands had gone down further, undone a few buttons. Serena wasn’t wearing anything but her bra underneath her blouse, and she suspected Bernie had figured that out.

There was a fierceness to Bernie’s love. She could be incredibly soft, but never allowed Serena to think less of herself, no matter what. They’d made love in the dark and never once had Serena failed to feel Bernie’s eyes on her, her hands on her curves, caressing her as if she couldn’t quite believe, after all this time, that this was real.

Bernie was warm against her back and Serena let herself lean against her a little, nimble fingers parting her blouse further. At first she’d felt exposed, but now… Now it was like stepping on the other side of the mirror, starting to see what Bernie saw rather than what she herself did. She knew what Bernie liked, what she focused on because she’d learnt what Serena derived pleasure from, and learnt every inch of her body, never missing an opportunity to rediscover those curves she praised so often.

Letting go, Serena let the rhythm fade to something a little more erratic, erotic, the strokes of a lover, languorous kisses and hitched breaths. She had it all in her, had it all ready to burst out, could relive in memory all those nights, could let go of the doubts that they’d come to an end, eventually.

It was the first time she’d played the piano with the ring on her finger, Bernie’s choice simple yet elegant. Of course she couldn’t wear it at work. And it stayed on her bedside table, especially when they had early nights. But it was a perfect fit. For her. For them.

Bernie had finished with her blouse, Serena noticed. Leaving chords dancing in the air she allowed Bernie to remove it, one arm at a time. Her bra followed, the chords haunting the room. Something had changed, Bernie, Serena felt, had taken some distance. Or had she?

As she kept playing, chord after chord hanging in the air, she felt a fingertip gently trace her spine, a kiss left in the middle of it. Bernie had knelt behind the bench, tracing patterns on her back for every chord, peppering her skin with kisses at every short melody. Soon it was just her lips ghosting over her skin, over her scars. Ghosting over her history, her past, the promise of a future. She’d felt her hands on her waist, anchoring her and kept playing, adding little notes here and there, feeling Bernie smile against her back. Serena kept going, one chord at a time, going back to something simpler, something she felt was them.

When she had explained to Bernie the significance this had to her, it hadn’t taken long for her to understand. She’d offered to leave her time, to have some sort of signal. This was the first time Bernie had been beside her, and she’d heard everything there was to hear.

“A lover I could never be jealous of,” had been her words. And now? Now with Bernie kneeling behind her, her forehead against her back, she wondered who the music had touched the most. Bernie moved to nuzzle her neck, leaving a kiss on her shoulder. She could feel tears against her skin.

“You don’t have to be alone.” That was the first time Bernie had spoken since Serena had sat on the bench, Bernie’s voice a mere whisper, as if fearing to disturb the music.

“I know that now, Bernie.” She’d whispered, too, adding a few chords. She knew what the last one had to be, knew what note she wanted to end this on. Ever since Bernie had been in her life, ever since things had felt like they weren’t on the brink of falling apart anymore. A major key.


End file.
